Sunday, May 27, 2012

I do not have family members who were in the service, but my
family uses Memorial Day weekend as an opportunity to remember everyone we have
lost, including those who have served our country. This was sketched at Sunset
Hills Memorial Park, where my parents and sister are interred, as well as other
relatives.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

I was almost four years old when my family went to Century
21, the Seattle World’s Fair, in 1962. I remember very little about that Fair – only a yellow
plastic lei I received at the Hawaii pavilion (I guess?) and a plastic pen
shaped like the Space Needle. I don’t remember seeing the actual Space Needle at
all, though I’m sure I must have. The Space Needle is celebrating its 50th
birthday this year, so here’s my birthday portrait, sketched from Gasworks Park.

Friday, May 25, 2012

This is Towan, the “big boss” orangutan at Woodland Park
Zoo. He seemed lethargic at first, but eventually began to perk up a bit and
even seemed to take notice that I was sketching him. He made eye contact with
me many times and moved closer to the corner where I was sketching. I was told
by a man who was also observing the 44-year-old orangutan that Towan is
sometimes given chalk or markers to draw with. I like to think that Towan and I
bonded briefly over our common penchant for sketching.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

“It’s like crack!” exclaimed Lisa, describing how she feels
after the 6 a.m. Jazzercise class we both attend. “That rush keeps me going the
rest of the morning,” she said.

I have been going to Jazzercise classes three times a week
for 13 years. I work hard, I sweat hard, keeping my pulse rate at the optimal
aerobic level for at least 30 minutes, followed by a strength routine and
stretching. Yet I have never, ever experienced the endorphin high that Lisa and
my runner friends describe.

That always made me feel a bit cheated: This much work, and all
I get is sweat? How much harder do I have to work to feel that way? But over
the years I have come to accept that if I haven’t experienced a rush from
exercise by now, I’m probably not going to. (You may be asking, Then why in the
world does she get up for a 6 a.m. Jazzercise class? Believe me, I ask myself
that all the time.)

Now I realize I’ve been trying to get high all these years
from the wrong drug. Sketching is the
real crack! After spending a couple hours at a coffee shop sketching other
patrons, I drive home with a buzz that lasts the rest of the day (no, it’s not
caffeine – I usually drink decaf). This buzz may be partly due to the
surreptitious nature of sketching people without their consent and constantly
being alert to avoid being caught. It could be adrenalin as much as endorphins.

But I get the same rush while focusing on a water tower for
an hour, painting the struts and girders with watercolors, or while trying to
capture the texture of the skin of a Komodo dragon eyeing me from its enclosure
at the zoo.
﻿

As a fiber artist working slowly and steadily with needle
and thread, I know well the calming, meditative quality of placing tiny
stitches, one after the other, thousands of times. There’s no doubt that I
enjoy that feeling also.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 6: We support each other and
draw together.

On a rainy Sunday morning – the kind that would usually see
me in my recliner with a second cup of coffee and the Seattle Times’ funnies – I drove out to Magnuson Park to join the
Seattle Urban Sketchers at my first sketchcrawl. Introvert that I am, going alone
to a social event like this – where I wouldn’t know anyone and I wasn’t sure
what it would be like – is usually hard for me. The rain, the coffee and the recliner
were all telling me I should skip this and go another time.

But two things pushed me out the door: One was the Seattle Times’ full-page spreads that
very morning of Gabi Campanario’s vibrant sketches of the new Chihuly
Garden and Glass exhibition. Talk about inspiring!

The second was the commitment I had made to myself to give
this sketchcrawl thing a try. It’s part of becoming an urban sketcher and
getting out into the world – and really seeing the world.

So I did – and I discovered that if there’s such a thing as
an introvert’s ideal social gathering, this would be it. I met and chatted with
nice people – but only for a few minutes. Then we all went our separate ways to
fill a sketchbook page or three. A couple hours later we reconvened and spread
our sketchbooks out on a table to share. This time, chatting was much easier because
we were admiring and commenting on each other’s sketches instead of making
small talk. Our amazingly varied views of Magnuson Park, including my own,
enabled me to see this tiny part of the world in a way that I never had before.
And I was already looking forward to participating in more sketchcrawls.

(This is the last of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto Nos. 2 and 3: Our drawings tell
the story of our surroundings, the places we live and where we travel. Our
drawings are a record of time and place.

With a sense of urgency, I went back to Cloud City Coffee, this time with a mission: To sketch the Maple Leaf water tower behind its sign. Even
though I’ve lived in the Maple Leaf neighborhood for nearly 25 years and have
seen the tower nearly every day, it was the first time I closely examined the crisscrossed
girders around it or the repeating pattern of the maple leaf motif.

After finishing the sketch, I came home and did a Google
search to see if I could find out when the tower is slated to come down.
According to the Maple Leaf neighborhood blog post dated Aug. 24, 2010, the
city decided not to take it down after all because its antennas still generate
revenue. I guess that shows how up to date I am on neighborhood news! (I make
no claims to be a reportage sketcher.)

(This is one of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Monday, May 14, 2012

﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 2: Our drawings tell the
story of our surroundings, the places we live and where we travel.

On another warm, sunny afternoon, I walked over to Cloud
City Coffee, one of my favorite neighborhood coffee spots (and kind of the
inspiration for my blog’s name), and sat down at a shady outdoor table. I love
the funky, art deco sign. Just beyond the sign is the venerable Maple Leaf
water tower, no longer used for its intended purpose, but much loved as a
neighborhood icon. Sketching the sign, I suddenly remembered that the tower is
destined to be taken down. I almost put it into this sketch, but decided it
deserves a sketch of its own. I felt alarmed: I have to get back there again
sometime soon to sketch it before it’s gone. Compelled to snap a quick picture
with my phone, I stopped myself.

Taking a photo with my phone is a good way to preserve a monument
in my phone. Sketching is a good way to preserve a monument in my memory.

(This is one of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 2: Our drawings tell the
story of our surroundings, the places we live and where we travel.

I was wandering around the University of Washington campus
on a fabulous sunny day – the kind that Seattleites are willing to wait 10
months of overcast skies for. I’ve visited the campus many times since I
graduated (for the second time) in 1981, but on this visit it seemed like
everything was different. Several new buildings had gone up since my last visit
(PACCAR Hall? What’s that?), and pathways appeared where there used to be
grass. A visitor stopped to ask me where the HUB was, the student union
building where I had eaten many, many meals over the course of six years, and I
had to twirl around to get my bearings before I could point him in the right
direction – that’s how disoriented I felt. It’s hard to be nostalgic about one’s
youth when everything looks different.

I decided to sit in “Red Square” to sketch the Broken
Obelisk (a sculpture by Barnett Newman, 1963), partly because it was far less
daunting than Gothic architecture, but mainly because Red Square looked the
same as when I was a student. In the brick paved plaza that I had crossed
countless times going to and from two libraries on either side, I could
imagine, for a few moments, that nothing had changed. (End of the old fart’s walk
down Memory Lane.)

(This is one of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Saturday, May 12, 2012

When I first became aware of urban sketchers posting their
drawings on blogs, Flickr and other online communities, my reaction was
twofold: inspiration (Wow! I want to do that!) and intimidation (Whoa, I could
never do that.). That being both the
ability to draw at a certain perceived skill level and the courage to post drawings
online.

Although, in general, urban sketchers seem to have a wide
variety of backgrounds, I noticed that many are professional architects, and
their drawings make that clear. Nothing is quite so impressive as a building
rendered with perfect perspective. I integrated my two reactions and said to
myself, Well, I’ll probably never be able to draw like that, but maybe I’ll
practice, and if I ever get that good, I’ll start posting my drawings online.

It was around that time that I had an insight about the
sketches I had been seeing online: I’ll bet most people are posting only the
drawings they are pleased with and leaving the lame ones in the privacy of their
closed sketchbooks! A-ha! Whether or not my insight was correct, it was the secret
to eliminating intimidation and viewing the sketches of others for inspiration
only. I want to do that! And I’m going to!

That’s when I began posting my own sketches online. I
started with forums like the Sketching Forum and Wet Canvas,
where I felt that I could tiptoe quietly, and maybe not many people would
see me. That turned out to be safe.

A short time later I began this blog and vowed that I would
publish sketches I’m pleased with as well as ones that I think are lame –
without necessarily identifying which is which. Still safe! So maybe posting
sketches online isn’t so dangerous after all.

Friday, May 11, 2012

As mentioned in the previous post, the Tombow colorless
blender has the purpose of blending smoother transitions between solid areas of
color and eliminating the streaky “marker” look. Although I haven’t been using the
blender pen this way, I’ve been experimenting with using it as a wash mechanism
instead of water with some interesting results.

5/9/12, Copic SP, Akashiya Thin Line, water

With water in a waterbrush – my usual wash tool with water-soluble
brush pens – the flow of water can be unpredictable (although with practice, it’s
easier to control), so I’ve sometimes lost the original line when too much
water was applied. The firm tip on the Tombow marker makes it much easier to apply
varying degrees of wash for shading, so the original line can be retained. I
wouldn’t use it exclusively, since that firm, dry tip won’t give me an organic,
gradient wash that is possible with water and brush. But sometimes I like the finer
control that the Tombow blender enables.

5/9/12, Copic SP, Akashiya Thin Line, Tombow colorless blender

I’m not sure what the Tombow colorless blender contains
besides water, but it does slightly change the hue of the ink being washed. For
example, the ponytailed woman (who, unfortunately, left before I could finish
her) was sketched with a black Akashiya Thin Line brush pen and washed with
water. I used the same Akashiya Thin Line to sketch this man working on his
laptop, but I used the Tombow blender for shading. I hope you can see it in the
scan, but the wash has a slightly bluish cast compared to the water-only wash.

5/5/12, fountain pen, Tombow colorless blender

I don't see a difference in tone when the Tombow blender
is used with a fountain pen (the baseball capped man): Both plain water and
Tombow blender give black Mont Blanc ink the same purplish cast. (See my previous post for more examples of the Tombow blender used with a fountain
pen.)

Whatever it’s made of, the Tombow blender dries instantly,
which can be handy if you’re in a huge hurry to close the sketchbook (which I am,
occasionally, such as when I suspect being “caught.”)

I’m planning to do a lot of traveling this summer, so flying
with art supplies has been on my mind. One possible advantage of the Tombow
blender is that it is a marker without a reservoir, so TSA would probably allow
me to carry it on board without putting it in my zip-locked bag of liquids and gels. (Although
I do recall an episode of “24” in which a villain carried explosives inside a
highlighter pen and was able to clear White House security with it… was TSA
watching? I’ll take the Tombow on my first flight and find out.)

I haven’t been using brush pens to color solid areas, so I
haven’t tried the blender pen as described. But lately I’ve been experimenting
with using the Tombow colorless blender as a wash mechanism with interesting
results. (More on this later.)

5/5/12, fountain pen, Tombow colorless blender

I’ve also lately been experimenting with an old Mont Blanc
fountain pen that I used briefly decades ago as a writing pen but never really
warmed to. As a sketching pen, I like it much better, so I took it out one day at
a coffee shop. Giving water-soluble fountain pen ink a wash with water is a
popular sketching technique, so I started wondering what would happen if I used
the Tombow blender instead of water. Since the blender pen is not as wet as a
brush with water, I can’t get the elegant feathery washes that are (usually
accidentally) possible with water. But conversely, the solid Tombow marker tip
makes it possible to control the wash to a finer degree, which makes shading
easier to control.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 1: We draw on location,
indoors or out, capturing what we see from direct observation.

5/8/12, F-C Pitt Artists Pen, watercolor

Some of the most marvelous nature sketchers (Elva Paulson
springs to mind) are bird watchers who get up before dawn so they can hike to
the ideal location to view a particular species, and sketch through binoculars.
Of course, birds move fast, so sketching them from direct observation must often
be an exercise in frustration.

That sounds like too much work to me, so I go to Willawong Station at the Woodland Park Zoo, where more than 150 colorful parakeets,
cockatiels and rosellas fly freely inside a large aviary. Presumably, they are
moving at the same speed they would be if they were in their natural habitat,
but because so many of them are concentrated in the same space, I can begin to
draw one, and if it flies away, another that looks very similar will take its
place as my model.

These cockatiels and eastern Rosella were, surprisingly,
very patient models who perched for my sketches from start to finish. And
unlike birds in the wild, these are so used to humans feeding them with a stick
coated with seeds ($1 each) that they let me stand within inches of them without
batting a feather. (OK, this isn't the nature sketchers’ manifesto.)

(This is one of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 1: We draw on location,
indoors or out, capturing what we see from direct observation.
﻿

5/8/12, fountain pen

﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿From direct
observation is the operative phrase here. It’s tempting to capture a person
or scene first with a photograph, then sketch from the photo leisurely in the
comfort of my studio. I sometimes do this when I want to practice a technique
or medium that would be difficult to use on location, or when the person I want
to draw is no longer living. But it always feels like cheating, and frankly, it
also feels dull. When I sketch from life, it never feels that way.

﻿﻿This senior gentleman didn’t particularly catch my eye. He
just happened to sit directly across from me in the doctor’s office waiting
room, so he was an easy target. Engrossed in his book, he hardly moved at all –
an ideal model. In the 10 or so minutes I took to sketch him, I started
thinking about what kind of man wears a suit to a medical appointment, and then
I became curious about the thick, hardbound book he was reading.

So much of life doesn’t seem interesting until I start to
sketch it.

(This is one of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 4: We are truthful to the
scenes we witness.

I think the spirit of this manifesto is that “we draws it
like we sees it.” We don’t make a scene prettier or otherwise alter the
impression of what’s present to impose our own editorial commentary.

My problem is, as much as I want to and try to be truthful
to a scene, there’s always too much of the truth available to sketch than I am
able to capture. A case in point is this scene at the Ballard Market. On a
sunny Sunday, the market was filled with crowds of people slowly meandering
around the flower, food and produce booths, yet I managed to sketch only two individuals
(plus a few vendors). I try to follow the advice of urban sketchers who are
skillful at filtering out details while leaving the essence of a busy urban
scene. But leaning up against a utility pole with my sketchbook, I was
overwhelmed with trying to indicate the crowd without sketching the individuals. So
unfortunately, the truth of the market crowd on a beautiful spring day looks
more like a rainy winter morning.

(This is one of a series of blog posts about how I have
interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)

Friday, May 4, 2012

Urban Sketchers’ Manifesto No. 3: Our drawings are a record
of time and place.

I had only a few minutes before I had to get to the next
errand on my to-do list, but it was enough time to stop at a coffee shop with
outdoor seating. It was chilly and windy, yet sunny enough to make Seattleites
feel hopeful that spring was on its way. Shivering, I quickly sketched this
scene of the fish ‘n’ chips joint across the street, the stiff breeze flipping
my sketchbook pages, when a young man startled me by asking, politely, if he
could take a photo of me. He seemed amazed that I would be sitting outside a
coffee shop sketching. (Because I view the drawings of a lot of urban sketchers, I feel like
we are everywhere, yet I suppose we’re still a novelty.) Smiling for his iPhone
camera, I thought about how he was making a record of that moment, just as I
was.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

I recently heard Gabriel Campanario, author of The Art of Urban Sketching, give a
reading and presentation about the book. He spoke of his passion for sketching
on location as a means to become familiar with a place or community – a passion
that led him and fellow urban sketchers to develop a “manifesto” for urban sketching:

1. We draw on location, indoors or out, capturing what we
see from direct observation.

2. Our drawings tell the story of our surroundings, the
places we live and where we travel.

3. Our drawings are a record of time and place.

4. We are truthful to the scenes we witness.

5. We use any kind of media and cherish our individual
styles.

6. We support each other and draw together.

7. We share our drawings online.

8. We show the world, one drawing at a time.

Seeing Gabi’s weekly sketches in The Seattle Times the past few years helped motivate me to start drawing again. His drawings of locations in Seattle – my birthplace and
lifelong home town – were sights that I had seen many times, yet had never
truly seen. I wanted to learn to see, and therefore experience, those locations (and any new ones that I travel to) more thoroughly, and it was clear to me that sketching them was one of the best ways
to do this.

With other media I use, such as beads and rope,
I occasionally work on small projects while on the go, but for the most part,
I stay in my studio. As a writer, even though my laptop makes computing
completely portable, I still tend to do my work at home. For that matter, other
than travel, all of my personal interests are things I prefer to do at home. I’m
basically an introverted homebody.

As I learned more about urban sketching, I realized that
inherent in our manifesto is getting out in the world – whether that world is
only as far as a neighborhood park or on a different continent. Sketching is
what takes me out of the house and into the world. The eighth manifesto, to “show
the world, one drawing at a time,” has a flip side: Sketching enables me to see the world, one drawing at a time.

(This is the first in a series of blog posts about how I
have interpreted the Urban Sketchers manifesto.)